


Rock the Casa

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [26]
Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, How did this angst get in my porn?, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 09:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: How had that farm house survived Clark’s teen years, if they were anything like this?





	Rock the Casa

**Author's Note:**

> About 3 years ago, when LiveJournal was a happening place, Zeejaybay suggested this. So I do take suggestions, they just might take a while to percolate through the brain.

Today had been a long day, and the night even longer. Batman stripped off his gear carefully and methodically, before spending a half hour in the shower. He had a lot he needed to do, and Alfred would have something to say if he didn’t get any sleep at all, and sleep really sounded good, yet Bruce just stood under the hot water.

When the water started to get chilly, Bruce forced himself to turn it off. Drying off, he slipped into boxers and a long robe. He should get dressed properly, but sleep was calling his name. Deciding this, Bruce walked over to put the computers in standby mode. 

An alarm blared before he could touch it, changing the destination of his finger. Alarm from Metropolis, set up to notify him when Clark’s building was called to the attention of the police. Adrenaline started pumping, as Bruce processed the data, pulling up the 911 calls while calling Clark. 

“Uce?” A sleepy voice asked, just as Bruce found out why the cops were being called. “Bruce, is that you? Is there and emergency?” 

“Clark, a bunch of tenets in your building called in an earthquake.” 

“What?” Clark asked, even as he moved around. “Metropolis doesn’t get earthquakes unless somebody has tossed me at the city.” 

“Not Metropolis, your building. Not even the buildings on either side or across the street. I’d suggest you investigate, and have a cover story ready for when the cops get there.” 

“I was asleep.” The sound of doors and confused voices suggested Clark was in the hallway. 

“I don’t think the cops will buy that, since this woke up the rest of your building.” 

“I’ll let you know what I find.” Clark disconnected. 

Bruce was now so awake he knew he’d not be able to sleep tonight. A sigh, and Bruce went about making himself useful. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

The next night, Bruce was really feeling the lack of sleep. The frustration didn’t help either, as Clark hadn’t been able to find a reason for his building to have an earthquake. A buildingquake Bruce thought, and promptly put it down to a lack of sleep. Tonight, he wanted to skip the shower and go straight to bed, but had to wait and see if the localized earthquake would strike again. 

Slipping into a sweat suit after his shower, Bruce laid on the cot he kept in the cave. It was purposefully uncomfortable, so he wouldn’t sleep so deeply that the he didn’t wake up if needed. But once he was as comfortable as possible, warm and still, Bruce was heading for a decent sleep. Which is why the alarm sounded, because it had to happen when it was the most annoying. 

Confirming it was the same problem as last night, Bruce called Clark. Just like last night, the calls to 911 stopped when Clark picked up the phone. Clark muttered an apology, not knowing what was going on. Bruce’s lack of sleep made his reply less cordial than normal. 

“Why are your dumb neighbors calling the cops for an earthquake anyway?” 

“That’s what people do when they’re scared.” 

“Tell them to knock it off, unless somebody’s actually bleeding.” 

“Bruce, I’ve got this. Why don’t you, I don’t know, go upstairs and get some sleep?” 

“Don’t patronize me, find out what’s going on and fix it.” Disconnecting, Bruce marched upstairs, determined to sleep. A good night’s sleep and he’d find a way to fix this. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Sleeping until noon didn’t provided Bruce with any clear culprits in this case, but it helped him remember a ‘forgotten’ piece of equipment. After he’d acknowledged that Clark wasn’t likely to destroy the planet, unless he was mind controlled which was probably going to be so public and obvious that it wouldn’t take spy cameras to see it, Bruce had agreed to take the cameras out of Clark’s apartment. 

Even Batman couldn’t be expected to remember every camera he’d ever installed, he was bound to forget one here and there. 

Flying to Metropolis during the day meant the private jet and rules, or laws if he wanted to get technical, but it had to be done. Fake some business there, sneak into Clark’s place and dust off the camera (or two) change out the batteries, and he was back in Gotham before dark. He’d promised he wouldn’t put more cameras in Clark’s apartment, back when he took (most) of them out, and he hadn’t. 

After patrol and a shower, Bruce put on his sweats and sat in front of his computer. The camera on Clark’s front room and door was so Bruce could get a good look at any visitors. His plan was to not wake Clark up until the intruder or cause of these centralized earthquakes was shown. The camera in Clark’s bedroom was therefore necessary to make sure Clark didn’t wake up at the wrong moment. 

Bruce sipped a bottle of water, and tried not to think about how great it would be to sleep like Clark. The idea of being dead to the world, no nightmares pulling him into darkness, deep breathing and comfortably warm. The wail of the alarm was Bruce’s first clue he was asleep, chin on chest and water bottle crushing in his fist. As it was a metal, reusable water bottle, Bruce thought that should have woken him up on its own. 

No sign of an intruder in Clark’s front room, so Bruce shut off the alarm and turned to Clark’s bedroom view. Clark was on his stomach, legs wide. Pillow held in a death grip in his arms, Clark was humping his bed in his sleep. The quick thrusts came with a deep purring noise. Everything, including the camera was vibrating, humming along with Clark’s wet dream. 

How had that farm house survived Clark’s teen years, if they were anything like this? 

The high-def infrared camera in his bedroom might have been a mistake, because Bruce could see Clark really well. Pajama shirt riding up, exposing that delectable dip over his spinal column. The rolling thrusts tearing at the elastic of his sleep pants, but they struggled to stay on, hugging that perfect ass. And Bruce was hard, from this tame little show; apparently Brucie needed a night out. Ripping his eyes away from the screen, Bruce called Clark. The phone rang, and Clark muttered “Bruce” before he otherwise reacted. He flopped over onto his back to reach for the phone, so Bruce got a perfect view of his erection, sticking out of the flap in his pajama pants. 

“Again?” Clark asked. 

And Bruce’s mind completely derailed with things he’d like to do with that erection, again and again, and apparently Brucie wanted that night out with Clark. 

“Tomorrow, 5 AM, be here.” Bruce hung up before Clark could tell there was more than annoyance deepening Bruce’s voice. 

Clark rolled his eyes at the phone before setting it back on his nightstand. Lifting his head, he looked at his erection, and decided to do something with it. After getting lube from the drawer in the nightstand, Clark wrapped a hand around his erection. Bruce licked his hand and stuck it into his sweat pants without a thought. He matched Clark’s strokes for a while. 

Clark paused, holding his hand in place so he could begin to thrust up into it. Hard thrusts that had Bruce feeling empty, wanting to be on the receiving end, thrusts that had him licking his left hand and dropping it to his balls. Rubbing his perineum, sliding down until his ass was only just on the seat. The edge of the seat dug into him, his thighs wanting to spread further, wanted him to invite Clark in. Those hard thrusts would feel so good if Clark was balls deep in Bruce, maybe they could do it in this chair. 

Clark had been at this for a while, long enough in his dream to build up the momentum it would take to shake a building with a vibrating bed, so he came before Bruce was close. Fumbling since his hands where shanking, Bruce set the last ten minutes of the feed to repeat, so he got to see the sleeping thrusts again, the erection turning up, the increasingly rough strokes stopped, paused before Clark thrust up into his fist. Bruce drenched the insides of his sweatpants, and took a minute to rest. 

When sleep was too likely, he pulled his hands out of his pants, wiped them off as best he could, and deleted the footage after the phone call. He’d keep that in case Clark asked for proof, but nobody needed to be seen like that. And he’d just watched Clark in that private moment, without permission, and gotten off on it. It did solve the mystery of why the building was shaking, but Bruce still felt really creepy. 

By the time he’d got out of the shower and rinsed the mess from his sweat pants, Bruce had put that shame in the corner of his mind he put things he didn’t know how to deal with. It was a very large and emotional corner. He left instructions for Alfred and went up to bed. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Bruce was coming out of the shower, tying his robe on, when Clark entered the cave. Bruce spared him an assessing glance, one that confirmed Clark wasn't mind controlled and looking for a fight, and then looked away. He headed for the elevator, the 'welcome Clark, please follow me' implied. Or thinly veiled. Fine, maybe it was nonexistent, but Clark enjoyed putting Alfred's polite words in Bruce's commanding glares. It had him grinning when he exited the cave into the library, where Bruce headed upstairs without a word. Intrigued, Clark now had to put effort into hiding where his thoughts were going. Skin tight suits were great for not shredding in the wind, but not great for hiding erections. Clark tried to imaging Bruce giving the tour Clark had once got from Alfred. 

"This carpet is a sixth generation replica of the original pattern designed exclusively for the use of the Wayne family. The Rococo pattern is ostentatious by today's standards, but such things are expected in a stately manor." 

But no, Bruce cared even less about the carpet than most men; if he ruined it he'd just buy a new one. Considering he was wearing the same slippers he'd worn down in the batcave, complete with bats, he was probably responsible for a couple of those carpet replacements. But then Bruce walked past the doorway to his room, and Clark was thoroughly distracted, disappointed, and curious. 

Bruce opened a door Clark had never been through before, and they stood in the doorway. The room was small for this house, probably where the lady of the house was supposed to retire to avoid the attentions of her husband or something. It wasn't obviously frilly, but it also wasn't used. 

"This is your room," Bruce said. "The only one who will come in without permission is Alfred, though he prefers to clean when you are not in the house." The speech had a repeated quality, so he'd probably given a version to every kid flying under Batman's wing. Bruce walked away, and Clark hesitated before following Bruce back to the master bedroom. Bruce waited for Clark at the door before he spoke again. 

"This room is open to everybody, though you are encouraged to knock before coming in. If it's privacy you are after, that's what your room is for. Decorate that however you want." 

Clark waited for this all to make sense, even as he followed Bruce into the master bedroom. Bruce pulled open a couple of top drawers and pointed to the drawers under them as he moved to the closet door. Clark looked and saw neatly folded clothes in the dresser, socks and underwear. Bruce opened the walk-in closet and let Clark look. A section held blue jeans, flannel shirts, and off-the-rack suits Brucie wouldn't touch to burn. The cheap polyester ties on the newly installed fourth tie rack looked particularly garish under the subtle lighting of a rich mans' closet. New clothes, styled and fit to Clark Kent. 

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" The words were out before Clark could think them through, but he really needed some clarification here. 

Bruce shut the closet door and walked away. The light went out when the door was closed, like a refrigerator, and Clark thought that was pretty cool but he had other things to worry about. Bruce hadn't scoffed at the idea that he was asking Clark to move in. 

"I found the source of your localized earthquake." Bruce was staring out over the grounds, apparently talking to his French doors. "Seems a super-powered individual hadn't had much time for a social life recently. Responded by having wet dreams like a teenager. Humping the reinforced bed-frame so fast it was vibrating the whole building. Residents called in an earthquake because they didn't know what else it could be." 

"So what's the experiment here? Want to see if I can start a fire off of my blush?" Clark asked, hoping to cover the surge of embarrassment that had set his face ablaze. He was aware of the dreams he'd been having when Bruce called to wake him about the issue, even if he hadn't connected it to the building's tremors. And if there were any kind of god or higher power, they'd make sure Bruce never developed telepathy and found out who Clark had been dreaming about spending time with. 

"We are biological beings, with biological urges and needs. If we meet those needs, this won't happen again." 

"I'm not sure what your plan is here, B." 

"When you get the time or the urge, stop by and work those tensions out with me. If I'm working you can sleep in your room; you won't scare the residents of this house." 

"You're ordering me to move in with you." 

"No, you live in another city." 

"But you made space for my stuff." 

"This house has twenty bedrooms." 

"You'll feed me if I'm here." 

"Alfred feeds everybody he can." 

Clark sighed, realizing he wasn't getting where he wanted to go. "Bruce, if this was about getting me laid so I don't shake my building and scare the civilians, I'm sure there are easier solutions." Clark was trying to sound logical, but his blush was probably hot enough to set paper on fire. "You could just have me drop by, or even send a prostitute to my building." 

Bruce's hand twitched around the knot on his bathrobe, just once before he stopped the tell. 

"We." Clark realized. "You said we have biological urges." 

"Humans are animals." Bruce tried to shrug it off, but he fidgeted again and spoke. "I set up a camera to see what was going on in your building. I saw what caused the problem, and how you dealt with it after I hung up. I responded similarly to my own urges, while watching you. I apologize." 

Clark switched to Superman mode, repressing every physical reaction he could, standing taller, chin up, posed and ready for anything. This deepened his voice, got his blush under control, and allowed him to control the new source of heat in his body. 

"Bruce, you put a camera in my bedroom after promising me you would not do so again. You saw me in a private moment, solved the mystery, and kept watching. You watched me and then you masturbated while watching me masturbate." 

"I am sorry Clark, I knew better." Bruce didn't really do contrite, but he did guilt beautifully, once he'd thought it through and determined he deserved it. "The camera is on the bottom left corner of that framed picture of the farmstead." 

"You want me to move in with you so you can have an outlet for your biological urges." 

"No." Bruce protested quickly. "It would have to be mutually beneficial and consented to, or it will not happen. I acted like a creep for no reason. Watching you like that did not serve anyone's interest but mine. No matter your decision, I swear I will not do that again." 

"If it was anybody else, even other people I have had sex with, I would be angry. I'd probably press charges, particularly if that person was supposed to be a hero. The new clothes, the fancy room, and all the food, I should really take that to be some sort of a bribe." 

Bruce flinched, a tightening of the muscles around his eyes and mouth. He hadn't even thought about it like that. 

"But it's not anybody else, is it? You are too smart to do a thing like that if you thought about it at all. You know all the laws, and the societal rules, even if you only know them so you can determine what other people are up to. The point is, I know you. And the fact that seeing me masturbate made you forget yourself? I know how I should react, but I actually find that incredibly hot." 

Bruce turned his head and met Clark's eyes for the first time that night. His right eyebrow rose, trying to get judgmental, but Bruce calmed it down. 

"Though, turnabout is fair play." Clark said, using his eyes to point at the large bed. Bruce considered him for a few seconds, thinking over Clark's easy acceptance, and pointed to a place on the wall "The camera was there." 

Clark obediently moved over, crossed his legs and sat in midair so his eye would be about level with the camera. Bruce had turned off the main light and was adjusting a bedside table lamp when Clark asked. 

"What are you going to tell the kids about me moving in?" 

"It's an efficient, mutually beneficial arrangement." 

The lamp was now reflecting on Bruce's bed about the same way the street lights hit Clark's bed in Metropolis. 

"So, a long-term booty call?" 

"I object to that term, as I won't say booty call to Alfred." 

Instead of watching Bruce take off his slippers and toss his robe over a chair, Clark tried to imagine saying booty call to Alfred. His look would suggest the English language had just died and that he was internally weeping that he was alive to witness it, all with an eyebrow twitch. "Objection sustained." 

Bruce responded with a knowing look before he laid face down on the side of the bed. 

"Long-term, stress," Clark paused here, very aware that sometimes Bruce added to his stress instead of releasing it, "reduction." 

"Mutually beneficial." Bruce muttered into the mattress as he wedged his shirt up so his lower back showed. 

"Mutually." Clark agreed, forgetting beneficial when Bruce pushed his pajama pants down to show he wasn't wearing underwear and where his lower back started to swell into his swell ass. He'd seen Bruce naked, this shouldn't be all it took to remind Clark he was wearing too many clothes. 

"You started like this, asleep and rubbing on the mattress." 

Super speed had Clark naked in time to watch the first thrust. 

"You were going much faster, so fast I expect damage to your mattress." 

And, damn it, Clark was distracted, suddenly realizing why his cheap memory foam mattress had random hard spots. He needed to drop that mattress in the sun before Bruce found out just how many melted spots there where in it. 

"You'd been at it a while, so when I called, you turned over, fully erect." Bruce turned over, reaching for where Clark's cell phone had been. Which kind of made it look like he was reaching for Clark. Bruce narrowed his eyes and spoke directly to Clark. "I didn't zoom in the camera." 

Clark didn't remember flying away from his spot by the wall, over the ridiculously large bed so he could be closer to Bruce. He shrugged and offered an explanation. "It's not a crime scene reconstruction, it's a" and Clark had to stop. Sex game? Sexy apology? 

"Mutually beneficial biological understanding?" Bruce offered, squirting lube into his hand. 

Clark hadn't seen Bruce pick up the lube, but Batman. "Biological is so limiting. Hedonistic?" 

"Corporeal, it's less judgmental." Bruce offered as he stroked his erection. 

"Alfred will still know you mean booty call." Clark muttered, annoyed for some reason. Probably because he wasn't the one stroking that erection. His muttered comment brought back the bat-snark, though, so it was totally worth it. 

Turning to look him in the eye, Bruce brought his feet up and planted them on the bed. His fist formed a target, a move Clark knew he'd done last night, but Bruce added commentary. 

"You were thrusting so hard into your fist I could hear it, I could almost feel it. Wanted to feel you take your pleasure from me. I've felt empty all day because I didn't have you," and here Bruce slowed down to match his thrusts and words, "and our abiding symbiotic corporeal accord." 

Clark moved, yanking off Bruce's sweats as he went, and using his hands to hold Bruce's legs out of his way. Bruce had cleaned himself out in the batcave shower, the lube glistened at him to show it. A lick proved it wasn't flavored, showing Bruce hadn't planned on Clark eating him out. And he'd been feeling guilty for watching Clark, something he'd deserve punishment for, since he was justice oriented. Looking around Bruce's erection, Clark caught his eyes. 

"Symbiotic means we both get something out of it, and I refuse to hurt you." 

Bruce rolled his eyes, fully aware of his limits, but tossed Clark the lube anyway. Bruce readily accepted the first and second finger, the third took longer, so Clark worked a fourth in. Yes, this was much more mutually satisfying, opening Bruce while watching him stroke himself. Until Bruce was ready, and Clark lubed his cock, pulling his fingers out and thrusting his cock in without breaking the rhythm. Bruce moaned beautifully, his hand tightening on his cock. Once he was fully settled around Clark, he looked to Clark to order him to move. 

"I think you've touched yourself enough for today." 

Bruce pulled his hands away, placing them above his head, surrendering to Clark's implications. 

Clark responded with the demanding, quick thrusts Bruce had asked for, but backed off when he felt either of them were getting too close. Bruce was clasping his hands together now, using dynamic tension to keep them from reaching down. When Clark stopped for the fourth or fifth time, he realized he was losing track, but that they were both sweating and Bruce looked gorgeous covered in nothing but sweat. 

"You're amazing." Clark told him, but started moving, slamming into Bruce once again, before Clark could blurt out what he really wanted to say. One little phrase that would ruin whatever this thing was between them if Clark said it first. When Bruce started clenching around him, Clark let him climax, Clark following a second later. 

When they were both aware enough to meet eyes again, Clark was almost laying on top of Bruce, and didn’t want to move. Looking down, he could see the Bruce’s ejaculate. From where his pelvis was pressed against Bruce, Clark could feel Bruce’s cock jump when he licked up Bruce’s come. 

“I hope you don’t think that is an adequate clean-up.” Bruce managed to keep his voice much calmer than his spent cock. 

“It’ll do until I feel like pulling out of you.” Clark tried to sound smug. Grabbing the end of the bedspread, Clark rolled them up until they were closer to the head of the bed, though not at the right angle for sleeping. He was still in Bruce, wrapped in a blanket burrito with him, but most of Bruce was resting on Clark’s body. 

“Another roll and I’ll be able to reach the wipes in the drawer.” 

Clark x-rayed the drawer to see what Bruce was talking about. “Why do you have baby wipes in that drawer?” 

“They are only for babies if you use them on babies. Besides, these might actually say for adults on them.” 

“Or Alfred told you that to save money on the things you use to clean up with after masturbating.” 

“Household economy is not really my best subject.” 

“Really?” Clark could fake innocence much easier than deal out real sarcasm. “The man with the football field for a bed isn’t overly concerned about saving money?” 

“Only bed in stock that wasn’t dwarfed by the room.” 

“Why did you need a new bed?” 

“You think I should have kept the one I was conceived in?” 

“Shutting up now.” 

“Good, I haven’t got much sleep lately, waiting up for you to damage your apartment building.” 

Bruce was sleepy, warm and pliant in Clark’s arms, his voice far softer than normal. So Clark shut up, relaxed and held Bruce, waiting for the man to fall asleep so he could clean them up and put them to bed properly. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Clark woke up, not even remembering falling asleep. It had been daylight for a while, but not on this side of the house. They’d moved during the night, Clark had slipped out of Bruce only to curl around him even more. Bruce stayed asleep when Clark had extracted himself, so Clark let his grin show. Then he went to their closet and got his clothes, before taking a shower in their bathroom. If Bruce wasn’t asleep, he’d probably be singing. Dressed and ready to face Alfred, Clark stepped into the hall and almost ran into Damian. 

Of course it was Damian in his school uniform. Little mini-Bruce, who had all the arrogance Bruce was entitled to but didn’t have. Mini-Bruce, who was far too smart, and more judgmental than Alfred and Bruce combined. Clark might have panicked. 

“It’s an abiding symbiotic corporeal accord!” Clark said before flying down the hallway and stairs. He didn’t get breakfast after all. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

The next week was busy, the one after that was rough. When things seemed to be calming down, Clark landed in his apartment and tried to decide if he should just sleep while he could. The large envelop on his kitchen countertop suggested maybe it wasn’t as calm as he was hoping. A quick x-ray showed paper and a key. Intrigued, he opened it. The envelope and card where a thick, heavy paper stock. Expensive. In beautiful, hand-written calligraphy, the front of the card said congratulations. Inside, it continued. 

Wishing you the Best on your 

Abiding Symbiotic Corporeal Accord. 

It wasn’t signed, and there wasn’t an address, but no doubt the key would fit some door in Stately Wayne Manor. Stroking a finger across the paper, Clark could feel it was embossed and engraved. 

He could practically hear Dick smirking at him. “What are you waiting on, Clark, an engraved invitation?” 

Clark left the card and flew to Gotham. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
